


"...if you sing another goddamn christmas carol..."

by shesaidnomaam



Series: Natasha Romanoff x Agent-in-Training Reader [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Agent-in-Training Reader, Christmas Fluff, F/F, Marvel Universe, Reader-Interactive, SHIELD Agent Reader (Marvel)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:47:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28091889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shesaidnomaam/pseuds/shesaidnomaam
Summary: Originally requested at my tumblr of the same name.Training to become a field agent, the reader is tasked with monitoring a mark as he visits a freezing outdoor mall complete with Mall Santa and incessant Christmas carols. The distractingly beautiful agent in charge of her training is less than enthused.
Relationships: Natasha Romanov (Marvel) & Reader
Series: Natasha Romanoff x Agent-in-Training Reader [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2063754
Comments: 3
Kudos: 41





	"...if you sing another goddamn christmas carol..."

This was originally a request I received on my [tumblr](https://shesaidnomaam.tumblr.com/post/637576217280823296/hi-i-hope-youre-doing-well-may-i-request-natasha).

  * "hi i hope you’re doing well! may i request natasha x fem!reader with winter prompts 11 & 19 with nat saying them? (if you only take one prompt you can choose whichever you feel fits best 🤠) have a great day/night! <3"



* * *

❅❅❅❅❅❅❅❅❅❅

**“I swear to god, if you sing another goddamn Christmas carol…”**

Her voice was low, words said through gritted teeth. She was well-practiced when it came to speaking without moving her lips. It was a skill she’d used many times in the field. One had to assume that they were always being watched. Natasha frequently used the skill to her advantage, saying whatever she wanted _when_ she wanted, but she never spoke for the hell of it.

So when she threatened you with uncertainty, you knew she felt it necessary.

“What, are you going to do something about it?” you asked, caring not if an onlooker could understand _your_ words. You were meant to be two shoppers that had chosen to brave the chaos of the outdoor mall. Bickering was the most natural thing you could do. Most of the people in the warm, slow-moving crowd were fighting - some even screaming.

Your partner was simply annoyed with your festive stylings.

“You don’t want me to answer that,” Natasha replied flatly, giving you her best Black Widow tone. It was stern and confident, but with an ever-present playfulness like a cat that was waiting for its prey to run.

“They’re catchy,” you replied, unwilling to totally concede. You were right, Christmas carols _were_ catchy. Surely, they were designed that way on purpose so that you’d remember and want to sing again.

“They’re incessant. I’ve got to hear it on the speakers,” Natasha nodded to the rock speakers that lined the walkways of the outdoor mall. “And I’ve got to hear it from you.”

“You don’t like my singing voice?”

“I don’t like hearing it sing _that_ shit,” she shot back, her eyebrows raising to imply that you should’ve known. It only made you smile.

You looked at the woman beside you, perhaps longer than you were meant to. There was a mission at hand. It was fairly straightforward, watch and report back, but that didn’t mean that you couldn’t allow yourself a moment or so of distraction. You’d be partnered with someone you admired as an agent, as a hero, and as a woman. Staring surely fit the cover of “two gal pals shopping”. You wished, however, that you’d been shopping at an indoor mall. Every time the wind blew you winced.

“Do you not like any holiday songs?” you asked, wondering if it was the holidays themselves that Natasha really didn’t like.

“I can stand the good ones,” Nat confessed, shrugging her shoulders in her black coat.

“Which ones would those be?”

She wanted to dismiss your question, finding it trivial to list songs like one of those internet lists she didn’t quite understand. Who was the authority on those lists, she wondered. She never got an answer she accepted.

However, upon catching a curious twinkle in your eyes, she obliged you. “I like the ones you can dance to,” she answered. “Mostly slower songs, but I do like some of the more, energetic ones too.”

Dancing, you liked the thought of Natasha swaying to some crooner singing to piano and brass. You’d heard Natasha was a good dancer, but you’d never had the pleasure, nor did you have the confidence to ask a world-class assassin to dance for you. Plus, you were certain that it would result in an HR meeting that you did not want.

“So maybe they’ll play one of those next and we can slow dance over with that couple,” you half-joked, nodding to a couple that had been enveloped in PDA for what felt like hours. They were one of the few couples that weren’t in some stage of a fight.

Natasha didn’t follow your line of sight, choosing to keep her eyes transfixed to you. “Maybe,” she said.

And you swore she’d kicked you in the chest. If you were going to make it as an agent, you probably should have worked harder to avoid such a feeling. Was there training for, ‘hearing something unexpected from someone pretty,’ you wondered. With your luck, Natasha would be the one leading such training. Nothing seemed to faze her after all.

“He’s making his way to the north side,” Natasha’s information cut through your wild speculation.

There were no stores to the north side of the lot, but rather a park area usually reserved for lunching families and their dogs. But Americana Christmas had fallen upon the town, and a temporary yet annual guest had visited.

“The North Pole, that’s where Santa is,” you said, smiling as you suspected he was about as appealing to Natasha as the carols. Something about a large man who required you to sit on his lap in exchange for presents didn’t scream Black Widow to you.

You caught the begrudging way the corners of Nat’s eyes turned downwards. She began walking towards 'the North Pole’. It was easy to find, as large wooden signs explicitly corralled everyone towards the big man in red.

Before you could see the display, you could _hear_ it and it was borderline deafening. You were grateful for the open-air mall concept, though it certainly didn’t curb all of the noise.

“Definitely more fighting happening here,” you said to Natasha. You didn’t bother whispering, you could shout and no one would hear a lick of it if they weren’t beside you.

“And children,” Natasha added, cringing slightly.

“Do you not like them?” you asked, feeling that while it fit the picture, it didn’t necessarily have to be true.

“Not when I’m working,” the woman replied, “they get in the way.”

You were quick to gather that the agent spoke from experience, rather than observation and it quelled your interest. Natasha had a reputation as being closed off and guarded, but she gave away more than you thought she realized. She gave hints of secrets and ends of threads that you could try to unravel, but it likely wouldn’t work out well for anyone. Curiosity always found its cat to kill.

She noticed your abrupt silence, you know she did, but she certainly wasn’t going to press you to pry.

Feeling the agent attempt to read you, you nodded to the long line that had come into view. “Should we get a picture?”

**“I’m a grown adult. I don’t want to take a picture with Santa Claus.”**

You expected no less and laughed. “I see adults in that line, and ones without kids.”

“I’m not that maladjusted,” she said with a wink that you would later cement to memory.

“I don’t know if I’d call all of those people, 'maladjusted,’” you replied. “Maybe they need…”

“To sit on an old unfamiliar man’s lap?” Natasha took a sip of her coffee and watched to see if you’d attempt to argue her point. Her eyes held the catlike taunt once again.

“He isn’t completely unfamiliar, he’s playing Santa.”

“So the outfit is what makes it okay?” Natasha smiled, showing you her teeth in a smug sideways grin. “Red velvet, big buckle, black boots, and a ridiculous sleeping cap that’s somehow considered a hat, that makes him, that man,” she motioned with the crown of her head, “trustworthy enough that you’d sit on his lap?”

It was cold out, but you could feel warmth begin to spread from your face. This was why you were still just a tag-along on missions, your face couldn’t be trusted.

“I didn’t say, _I’d_ take a picture with him,” you started.

She interrupted, choosing her words over your attempt, “so you expected me to do it alone?”

“No, I figured you wouldn’t want to. And clearly, I _was_ right…” you didn’t know when it happened, but your free hand moved to your hip, a defensive stance. “And no one says you _have_ to sit on his lap.”

You weren’t sure why you were defending the tradition that frankly, had always struck you as weird, but there you were. Maybe it was her eyes that had pushed you to take a stand, even if it wasn’t one you really wanted to make.

Maybe desk work was a better fit after all.

“No, but they certainly seem to enjoy it,” Natasha said, finally relieving you of the laser beam like hold she’d had on you. You watched her look at the line, her eyes dancing over the friends, lovers, families, and unruly children. “He’s in line, we’re gonna be here a while, did you bring aspirin?”

“Should I have?”

“Oh yeah, right jacket pocket.”

It took you a moment to process that you’d been given a direction. Then, carefully as if you expected something would bite your hand, you reached into Natasha’s pocket. Your fingers retrieved a small travel-sized pill bottle.

“I don’t have a headache yet,” you said. As soon as the words left your mouth a child not far to your left began to scream. Natasha gave you an inquisitive look, wondering if you were going to rough it. You put the bottle in your own pocket, nodding a 'thank you’.

“Alright, let’s go then,” Natasha said with a sigh, stepping towards the line.

You stalled, watching with wide eyes. You quickly joined her side once more.

“Wait, really?”

“We have to watch him, and the only thing to do in this section is to wait for a photo op. If we don’t stand here like everyone else, we’re going to draw more attention to ourselves. But you’re taking the picture, not me.”

You began to protest, but Natasha’s smile stunted your stuttering in its tracks. It was a hard smile to decipher. You couldn’t tell what she was conveying to you, but as long as she looked at you, the cold wasn’t so bothersome.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, and please check out my tumblr. Most of what you see in this account will be posted there first. If you enjoyed this and have something else you'd like to see, come make a request!


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